


The Hour - Those Seven Days

by Sam Miller (Samstown4077)



Series: Randall Brown / Bel Rowley Collection [4]
Category: Peter Capaldi - Fandom, The Hour
Genre: Drama, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship, No other characters are mentioned with name, Older Man/Younger Woman, Peter Capaldi fandom - Freeform, Rare paring - Freeform, Romance, Slow Burn, The Hour - Freeform, The most important 60 minutes of your week, male/female - Freeform, this is good and i love it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-19 00:51:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11886441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samstown4077/pseuds/Sam%20Miller
Summary: There is this little room at the end of the floor. The archive room, with a little corner. Frequented by those who seek silence and to sort their thoughts. It's there where Bel and Randall meet and slowly discover there is more with them both as just a work relationship. But with the end of Series 2 The Hour is going down. What will become of Bel and Randall? Slowburn and utterly romantic. Not going to spare you with drama.





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> This idea hit me while I was doing the Camino the Santiago in Spain, and when I returned I started to write it down. It's nothing big. Chapters are not that long and will not be more as seven, but I think I can tell a beautiful story in those of finding, losing and maybe finding again. The classic Boy meets Girl thing ;).
> 
> You don't have to have seen The Hour, but it might help with the spirit and the first chapter I mention some facts and moments, but you can easily go without it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bel Rowley and Randall Brown couldn't be more different. And here they are, taking care of each other. A simple gesture of Randall will lead into a story of complicated happenings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short sweet chapter, setting the tone, introducing. Most of the chapters are around 2000 to 3500 words. I wanted to keep it short. The story is basically finished and just evolves around Randall and Bel. I indeed managed to not speak another name of the other characters of The Hour. I wanted it just a story about them.  
> It's set at the beginning of S2 and will end far after the end of S2.

 

It must have been the Cilenti-chase. Randall remembered Bel being in an uproar about the girl - Rosa Maria Ramírez - who had been found dead. And there had been nothing Randall could have done about it. Not before and mostly not after.

Bel, of course, felt terrible. A personal guilt that made her angry and sad at the same time. Her voice had been the loudest in the conference room, and Randall - who usually got depicted as being less empathetic - sensed that the situation did more to her as she wanted to show, and Bel Rowley showed a lot at that moment.

He watched her while her words shot through the room, while something in her eyes told him that the anger was just hiding.

By that time, they both knew each other well enough, and he saw right through her. Bel Rowley always had the urge to portray the strong woman, and society and circumstances didn’t give her much room to be anything else in the world of news, men and a quick and fast ongoing competition.

While the discussion with all the others of The Hour, they had shared a brief look, and Bel was the first to look away again. Not a sign of weakness, but Bel knew if she wouldn’t, Randall would see too much of her. 

This couldn’t be allowed. She guessed he probably knew too much already. After a time of misunderstandings and riddles, they came to a silent understanding of each other. Never talked about it loud, just shown in the newsroom when one idea of her clicked perfectly into one of his.

 

Afterwards, he sent everyone back to work. Bel was leaving the room second to the last, only to disappear into the archive room.

At the end of the floor, a door. A smaller room, on one side a table with the machine for reeling films and the microfilm reader big as a block. Two old rusty swivel chairs in front of it. The room parted by a big shelf from floor to bottom, filled with film rolls, many boxes of microfilm cards, equipment and God knows what. 

Just a little gangway, so the smallest table in the office could fit at the end of the room plus a simple wooden chair. No windows, just some light bulb not even covered by a glass protection gave light to the chamber. Mostly the other half of it, as the shelf took away the light in the corner. And two others little lamps that used to shine all the time. Even Randall with his OCD and quirk for turning off the lights in rooms which were unused couldn’t manage to turn them off. 

He once did, in his first week, only to return a minute later to switch them back on.

Bel sometimes used that little hiding spot to smoke a cigarette in quietness - her office sometimes too well frequented - away from the hubbub of the newsroom. Giving her thoughts a bit room, while wondering if all the crap that laid in here ever would get used again. 

Sometimes someone came inside, straight to the reel machine or the microforms, and then Bel kept quiet, not moving, just waiting till the person would vanish again. Afraid she would give away the only safe spot in the whole office when making herself noticeable. 

Luckily the longest time she had to spent in quietness was twenty minutes, listening to singing that was very much out of tune and some quiet ranting about ‘working long and nobody ever appreciated it’.

Two days later, she gave credit to everyone in a conference for exactly that, and earned a puzzled look from Randall, she answered with a, “how about a new positive leadership style from time to time? Their toenails being bloody after all that time.”

A raised eyebrow and a faint smile were his answers. She was right, as so often.

Randall had seen Bel go inside that room very often. By coincidence, and he never knew why, but he had a hunch over time, and when she wasn’t in her office he walked straight to the spot looking for her.

Stepping inside he closed the door quickly, giving Bel two seconds to get used to his being in here. Only then he stepped to the left and came around the shelf, finding her in the corner. Shadows were falling over her, and his eyes needed a moment to get used to the fuzzy lightning.

Standing with her profile toward the shelf, close to the table, and her back almost touching the wall behind her, she gave him a quick gesture. For some odd reason, she had known that it only could be him.

His hands in his pockets he watched her drag at her cigarette before she squished it in the ashtray that was hidden between two boxes on the shelf. 

Smoke was circling upwards to the little ventilation in the corner, giving the light a certain look. For a second he regretted to not have a camera with him. The picture of light and shadow would have been one worth taking. 

He gave it a little sight before he approached slowly, “Bel…”

“Spare me your speech,” she snapped, turning slightly more away from him. “I’m ain't stupid, you know, of course, there was nothing we could have done. Or could do.”

Randall let her rage drip off of him without thinking bad about her. The last days had been hard and overwhelming, and who was there she could talk to? Let out her frustration?

Instead of saying anything he took out his handkerchief from his breast pocket, fiddled then for a bit with it in his hands, as if unsure what to do with it. Unsure of how to offer it. But there were tears. Not many, maybe just one and he couldn’t have it because he cared that much about her.

In the end, he closed the gap between them and held it out, aside from her, gently brushing her upper arm with his forearm, “It might surprise you, but you are the least stupid person I know.”

Taking the handkerchief while the words sank, she laughed up a bit, dapping away the few tears, which had formed without her allowance, in the hope it wouldn’t ruin her make up.

“Is that a compliment, Mister Brown?” she sometimes teased him by using his last name. Being all formal as if there were in a meeting with the higher BBC bosses. She liked the sound of his name somehow. She guessed he saw it as a random name. Brown. Miller. Smith. Something like that. With every other person, she had agreed, but with him and his first name, it had a certain Vivre. Of course, she never told him that. So she used his last name instead, underlining it with a smirk. He was clever enough to get the drift. 

“It is, whatever you make of it, Miss Rowley,” was his answer, and it made his producer finally turn toward him. 

There was a short glimpse in her eyes, fire, ready to be unleashed on him. Scolding him for his riddles, for making himself more an enigma as a human being, and then she saw right through him. For one second he had been able to take away the sadness.

Like a backlash, it hit her again, and she slumped against the wall, “It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s not!” Randall was quick correcting it. “The girl came to you because she trusted you, and that trust hasn’t been disappointed. There is a fault, and that is Cilenti’s.”

Bel sniffled, agreeing with Randall’s words in her head, but it was hard to convince her heart of it. It would take a few days.

Randall watched her battling with herself on the inside, and he knew the only thing that could help her at least a little was a shoulder to lean on. Awkwardly he turned about to get someone to help her with that, only to lean aside her, his shoulder merely touching hers, not sure where to look at the shelf, the floor or her. He wasn’t sure of step in such area.

“The girl is dead, you can cry about it, sure,” he gave Bel a short glance, seeing her press the cotton white against her nose, “dwell on it. Sadly said, here it is no use. Tomorrow I fear, we have to be on track again.”

Bel glanced up at him; she always considered Randall so very smart, what used to be his 20 years major to her and the life experience he had gone through in his life. Then she looked at his shoulder, “And today?”

It all made him so very nervous; there was no denying. The last time a woman had cried on his shoulder was back in the Spanish war when a young woman had lost her brother to the ongoing crossfire at one starry night.

Fidgeting with one of his cufflinks and then his tie, he then turned to her slightly, “There are better shoulders to cry at when you ask me. But...”

There probably were, she thought for half a second and then Bel just gave in, and her head dropped down on his shoulder, and before they both became aware, Randall had placed a hand on her back, and Bel found comfort in this half embrace. Not crying, just resting, so she calmed slowly down.

“No, there are not,” she mumbled then, and as an answer, his thumb circled her shoulder, and an unseen smirk crossed Randall’s face in the dim.

How long they spent like this Bel couldn't say, only that it felt as forever and at the same time way too short. She had never thought Randall would show such closeness to her. Or anyone. In the end, he was a cautious creature, and in her opinion, Randall was formed by his past and life so much, that no one and nothing would ever make him change. 

Bel always guessed him for someone with great empathy but not able to show it. He usually not even shook hands with people, not when he could avoid it. 

Letting her rest against his body, placing an arm around her, giving her that comfort while leaving his own was surprising. And while Bel let her thoughts calm down, she couldn't get out of her head, that she enjoyed it. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I sometimes find myself browse the tag "Randall Brown/Bel Rowley" only to be slightly disappointed. Well, if no one else is writing those two, I will! I have to!!! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this first chapter. If you have questions or anything, or a bit of praise or critic please do not hesitate to leave a comment or a kudo!


	2. Tuesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randall gets devastating news. And when Bel discovers an office in chaos he knows where to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who hasn't seen The Hour. Randall was once involved with Lix Storm (in the 30s) and they had a child together he never knew. Lox gave it up for adoption. Randall finally wanted to find out about his daughter. With Lix he does research and they discover she did in the war with only being 2 yrs old. This led to a heartbreaking scene in the Hour. This scene follows right after it.

It was a Tuesday, a few weeks later, the Cilenti case was still going strong, and everyone seemed on edge. Unnerved. Unsure. Nothing appeared to be sure anymore. Everyone in the newsroom had to learn it in those days, some even the hard way.

So it came that Bel, hands full with papers, her glasses on her nose, stumbled into Randall’s office without a big warning, internal ready for a grumpy look because she hadn’t knocked. A time of crisis allowed much. “Randall, listen! We-”

Bel faced an empty desk, an empty office, just papers and pens scattered around the room as if there had been a fight.

“Jesus…” Bel turned unsure how to take the mess around her, but the chair was empty and no Randall to be seen. 

In the corner was a book lying, parted in two. Bel recognised it; it was the one that usually always laid neatly on his desk. The mess wasn’t dramatic, but who knew Randall Brown knew something must have happened.

Not a fight, an outbreak of rage. In shock, Bel covered her mouth, suddenly worried about the office's owner. Then she spotted a picture on the floor. Stepping forward she bent down, discovering a picture of a couple with a small child in their arms. Maybe two years old. Frowning she turned and spotted an open file on the desk close to the entrance.

It wasn’t Bel’s intention to be noisy, but the circumstances led her to the solution. A death certificate for a child. Her attention switched to the picture again, then to the empty chair behind the desk and the chaos.

Suddenly everything fell into place. The past weeks Randall had been unusually talkative with a particular person. The one person Bel had guessed from the beginning had have a deep connection with Randall. It had helped that the woman had basically told Bel herself by requesting her not to ask about her tie to the Head of News. Later, Bel had been sure it was not just a tie, but an old liaison laying upon the two.

Not her business and where was the problem, so she didn’t care. Randall was a man, he didn’t look like it but apparently he - at least in the past - was dating women. That the connection had run that deep, she couldn’t have imagined. A loss. Not rage. An outcry.

Placing the picture aside from the file, she left the office quickly, not to return to her own, but to the one place, she could imagine Randall would be.

The files she had in hand, including her glasses, she put outside on a bench that stood there, and then entered as quietly but noticeable as possible.

She found Randall in the corner, having noticed her intruding. His body language was showing hectic, uncertainty. He was afraid it was someone he did not want to see. Someone of the others and Bel couldn’t be sure if she weren't one of “the others” too at the moment.

“Randall,” she said quietly, making show she was who she was, keeping the distance till he had composed himself at least a bit.

He brushed through his hair, keeping his back on Bel not able to say something yet.

“I was looking for you in your office, but…,” Bel began. “I thought you’d be here.”

A sharp inhaling, before he turned his profile toward her, “I’ll be back in my office in five. You might think about coming toward me then.” 

He was angry, that his voice told her, still it was unsteady. Bel could detect the tiny vibration. Had he cried? She couldn’t imagine but was almost sure of it. The anger was mostly for himself and the rest for God, or whatever he believed in, for not giving him his proper grieving time.

Bel stepped closer, “there is no need to be.”

With that Randall turned completely, and even in the dim light, she could see his eyes being red. The moment that had happened in his office obviously hadn’t helped to canalise the pain and grief.

“Of course there is the need to be. I am the Head of News, and there is a time of crisis. I shall be in my office!”

“Foremost you are a human being,” Bel said with a strict voice, knowing it was the only way to contain Randall’s absurd ideas of working loyalty. “Having your right to… to grief.”

Randall gave her a scolding look before he decided not to be angry. Bel had been in his office, having seen the mess. In his daze, he remembered that the death certificate probably was still on the other table. And Bel Rowley was one of the cleverest people Randall Brown knew.

He had left shortly after whispered words of comfort couldn’t help him anymore. There were many things he could do in front of this one woman. Raging, being shattered, but not crying. As if drunk, he had found the only safe spot in the whole newsroom, letting his tears run free for a couple of minutes.

By now Bel was by his side, seeing he wasn’t wearing his glasses, which laid on the table behind him.

Randall couldn’t explain it to himself, but when he felt her being close, he wasn’t shy anymore of his desolate emotional state. 

“I was so sure, that she was still… “ the word ‘alive’ came without a sound and then another wave of pain jolted through him.

Without thinking Bel’s hand reached up and cupped his face, her thumb brushing away some tears.

He must have looked like a deer in the headlight, he would think later. Her hand was warm and felt so very soft, and he was sure his skin wasn’t that smooth anymore as it used to be so long years ago.

It was that comfort he never thought he'd get in any form again. Not after his child was now dead, how could he ever link with anyone again? In his eyes, such touch was spared for partners, not work colleagues. Not for Bel and him.

To his surprise, and maybe to Bel’s too, it felt alright. Good almost, trusting, and the warmth of her hand sent comfort right through him, right into his heart. Exactly where he needed it at this moment. Yes, he needed this, even he had denied it just seconds ago, and Bel was the one able to ease down the overwhelming emotions and the pain.

Gently he pressed into her hand, covering it with his own. All the uproar inside him, diluting his sound mind into something he wasn’t able to control with his tics and OCD anymore. His head wasn’t anymore in charge - the heart was, and that made him with such  contact to a human being collapse into himself.

With a sob he rushed down landing on the stool behind him, no energy to be strong or to push Bel away who just held on, kept the touch while Randall rested his forehead against her stomach. 

Cupping his own face in his hands, silent convulsions went through him while Bel just caressed the back of his head and shoulder, whispering, “It’s okay,” over and over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tanks for reading my little ship here. Update will happen tomorrow.


	3. Wednesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It gets more intense. And more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter you've been waiting for ...

Within short time everything collapsed. It was chaos and a human tragedy, relentless with them all. And again, there was nothing Randall had been able to do against it. Like a string of dominos long ago put into motion, it found its sad crescendo in front of the High Grove building where The Hour was stationed.

 

The young man, beaten to a pulp, who had been going missing the day before, laid in the green grass. As a warning, more a reckoning for all the news they had broadcast, the research they had done. 

Beaten to a pulp then, still alive, about to die, but found in time by the woman he called dearly “Miss Moneypenny”. 

Blood on his face, blood on Bel’s hands, mixed with tears. Blood on Randall’s hands and suit when he finally reached her, pulling her gently away so police and coroner could take away the body.  

The card house of The Hour collapsed with this. Two days later the foreign desk found empty. Its owner gone with the wind, taken away her things and habits to find a job somewhere else. Probably a crisis anywhere in the world, because there were enough crises in the world to run away forever and even a little longer. In this life and the five next. Randall knew that. Their other Anchorman lured away for money and fame, and because The Hour would be gone soon, he went that way. No one took it personally. 

Nevertheless, another running away. Randall knew that too, and for a moment, when he tried to get rid of the blood on his expensive white shirt he thought it was a good idea. Brilliant even, but he was tired of running and felt a duty of care for the rest of them, and so he stayed. To keep going, to make news they never would air again. 

A sham, playing for time, and then the BBC would shut down the show, only to replace it either by some commercial gig or another news show. 

Better, of course, lighter, not that serious. Not that investigative. Not that dangerous. Like a weather vane in the wind.

The show and the people scattered in all parts of town, and only met once again when the funeral was. A grey day, without rain, and Randall stood on the right side of the coffin, while Bel stood across from him on the other. Everyone in black, what else, and while they let down the coffin, he only could watch her -- finding the black costume so gruesome on her.

Making her paler as she was anyway, just the blond hair, bound to a staunchly bun stood out of all the black. She didn’t deserve this, he thought and the only thing he wanted to do was go over and taker her in his arms, because there was no one around doing it.

Bel didn’t cry that day. She had before and she would after, but she forbid herself to cry at this day, not in front of all those people. Mostly friends and colleagues. His family already gone, and the girl he had married on the way to Paris. Bel wasn’t sure if the news had reached her — in the end, it would. Not bringing him back to life anyway.

It had cost her everything to not fall into a hole of nothingness after his death. It hadn’t been easy, not after the foreign desk had vanished and her anchorman had confessed he would leave too. It would have been the easiest thing not to come to work again because there was no job anymore. 

Yet, there was a reason. And when the reason was able to go to work, trying to keep it all together at least a bit, she could too. She owed it to him, and so she showed up every day on time. Rims under her red eyes, but ready to do whatever was necessary to keep up that ridiculous charade. A time of crisis and they would fight till the end.

When she couldn’t stand the sight of the coffin anymore, she raised her head to find Randall look at her. Black suit, black tie, black coat. Blue was a better colour for him; it crossed her mind, and then she felt the urge to walk over and take his hand, rest her head against his shoulder because he was the only one she could think of giving the right comfort.

Seeing her look at him, he sent over nod, and Bel returned it with a soft smile before the priest asked all present for a chorale to sing. 

 

Two weeks later, a Wednesday, the inevitable happened. The upper floors shut down The Hour and would send everybody left on their way.

The few things Bel had left in the office, fit in a box, she could carry home, including the yellow lamp that had been once a gift. For a moment she had played with the idea of leaving it behind. Like a restart, getting rid of something old that was so attached to sad memory but there were also good ones, and so she couldn’t bring herself to it, to leave it behind, and packed it gently into the box.

Afterwards, she slowly walked down the floor, the rest of the team busy packing or making goodbyes with a glass of port or beer. She smirked, ‘If Randall would see that!’

Thinking of whom, she took a glance into his office, what was as hers mostly empty, but Randall wasn’t there, and so she turned to enter the only spot in the world she knew he was.

When he heard the door open, he turned, leaning in the corner against the wall by the table. The room was still full; no one had felt obliged to pack anything. Someone else would do it later.

“It’s curious how well frequented this room always is, isn’t it?” Randall spoke, watching Bel lean against the shelf.

She smirked, “It is curious indeed. You want me to leave you to your private five minutes in here?”

“No,” he made a gesture with his head, and Bel approached. “I always thought it is more comforting in here with… with company. The right company. How are you?”

Leaning carefully aside him against the wall, she shrugged, “I don’t know.” The answer was unsatisfying for herself. “He is gone, and I am…”

That they had been close, the young wild Randall had met in Paris and had lured back to London, he had known from the start. That it ended like this, made him feel guilty.

“... here,” Randall finished for her.

“Yes,” she answered, pressing against him with her upper arm, and Randall allowed it, by touching her hand by his gently with his fingertips. Bel’s head dropped against his shoulder. “Does it stop? This feeling?”

His fingers trailed along the inside of her hand, sending a chill through his spine, wondering why that was. 

Before he could take the hand away, Bel closed hers and held his fourth and fifth finger. 

His sight went down, without seeing much as Bel was still resting her head against him, and so he let it how it was. Comfortable, pleasant, warm. 

“The very truth is, Bel,” he then began, closing his eyes, in remembrance of the past weeks, “I don’t think so. The heart can take so many wounds, heal itself from time to time, but in my experience, it’s like a scar in winter. It hurts from time to time.”

Bel didn’t think of Randall as a poet, more a taleteller, someone who was smart with giving riddles and odd with humans. Yet, here he was, with those words of wisdom once again.

She began to sniffle, and Randall quickly turned, grabbing her by the shoulder and facing each other now. Oh, how he couldn’t stand to see her cry.

“This room has seen too many tears already,” the back of his hand brushed against her cheek, almost a bit rough, but Bel knew he was just desperate and not wanted to see her cry again.

“Where will you go?” she tried to distract both of them, but not turning away. “Paris?”

“No,” for a reason he couldn’t say out loud, he suddenly smiled. Not because Paris woke any fond memories, more for a blurry idea of taking Bel with him. The idea threw his inner into a turmoil, and he forgot to answer for a few seconds.

Seconds within Bel wondered how Paris was? In Summer, Winter and foremost in Spring. She had never seen Europe. Only by the books. She was still so young, in her early thirties, there was still time, but something told her, she probably never leaves the darn islands. 

If Randall had gone, he might have asked for a job for her. Maybe. As he had said no, there was no more to discuss.

“Spring is a beautiful time there, did you know?” he said out of the blue. Frowning then. Maybe he got sentimental in his old days. And yet, he remembered Paris come to live back in Spring. The colours. The people, everything. Not that he ever had taken part in such spectacle. Not the old bachelor Randall Brown. No wife. No kids. No future.

All so sudden - it must be semblance of panic - he grabbed her hands, all so warm, while his were cold. As if there was a future somewhere in this small little place for them. Together.

Bel noticed his cold hands and wondered why. Didn’t men always have warm hands? For a moment he looked so frightened, a streak of sheer panic as if there had been a thought in his head going haywire, and she knew it was her in some way pushing him like this. For once it was Bel Rowley keeping that Head of News on his toes. For once?

His hands so soft, and his touch so gently, even when rushed. There was something with Randall, Bel thought and wondered why it was him she had shared such moments in this room and not someone else. Of all people, in the beginning, Randall never seemed like becoming close to her. A friend, and a little more. 

She clasped one hand around his, so it was an equal of holding and being held, and her heart doubled the speed for a bit. 

Maybe they could come back, not to the office, but this room. Or meet up at a cafe, somewhere. It didn’t matter; it was suddenly just so important to see him again. They could do this regularly. Like old friends. 

 

No.

 

They both felt the absurdity in their thoughts without sharing them.

“They asked me to take over a small magazine, and I agreed,” he came back to the topic. “London. You?”

She had been afraid he would leave the town, go to Glasgow or Bristol, all good offices of the BBC. The new position was probably beneath his talent, but he must have reasons, Bel guessed. That he had seen half the world, and way too many wars, she knew and didn’t know at some days if she should envy him or not.

On the other hand, she had seen a war too. The big one. As a child, out in the country, because it had been safer. They’ve been kids, she and… now gone. Laying in the grass, watching the sky and seeing the aeroplane bombers cross. 

Every weekend they had watched the news, broadcast by the BBC, and it was there when Bel Rowley decided to become a reporter, to become a journalist. Bring the truth to this big white screens in cinema and later onto the telly. 

“For the moment I go back to my old job,” another defeat in her eyes, but she had to pay the bills and fill the fridge. “Better as nothing.”

Randall nodded, he’d be sure he’ll find her a good position. He had a bit influence, his name was something worth here and there, but he’d keep it for himself. Bel was not the woman who wanted to be helped out. She needed the feeling she had done it alone, and he could grasp very well why. “London, then.”

She was surprised that he was so relieved to hear it. Was he glad she wouldn’t go away? On the other hand; London was a big place. How possible was it to cross path that often? She almost was about to calculate the chances, when the door suddenly went open, and two voices reached their ears.

Bel almost jumped, but Randall reached for her shoulders and instinctively pressed one finger against his mouth. This shall not be the way it ended, not with two intruders. They deserved better.

Two of the crew, one inside, the other outside, sharing a talk, they had to find something, one last research had been asked, and so one began to search the many boxes on the other side of the shelf while smoking a cigarette.

While Bel and Randall shuffled into the corner, silently, hoping not to be exposed. So very close, his back against the wall, she held and pressed against him. Both too afraid to breathe almost.

And then they shared a look, finding their bodies and faces so close to each other. 

Randall felt a dizzy feeling in his stomach, and a hot frisson go through him. He had been close to Bel before, but this was new, this was something else.

They both were not stupid enough to miss that. If the situation would have been another, they simply had separated, had felt shy and embarrassed before turning their backs on each other. Bel blushing and Randall clearing his throat exaggeratingly.  

Here they were, unable to move, afraid to give away their hiding place, and it was - to Bel’s surprise - Randall whose eyes betrayed the sudden budding sensation between them. Trailing to her mouth and then quickly back to her eyes, his mouth about to say something, but Bel placed a finger on his lips. Her hand had laid between shoulder and collarbone.

The touch became more tactile, her hand reaching for his cheek and soon Bel could almost tell where this would lead but not why it was happening.

Maybe it had to happen, after all the past weeks of horror, of loss and defeats. There had been no happiness, not at all, and they both couldn’t be sure to get happy here, but it was a start to something new. Or the final streak to an unfortunate end.

Bel made the first move, while the microfilm reader started to whir up, slowly leaning in. They almost had the same size, and the gap wasn’t that big. Randall’s breath hitched against her mouth, and for a brief moment she believed he would stop her, and then she felt the skin of his so very carefully touch hers.

Randall was afraid. Not of the kiss itself, more that Bel would regret it, that he had misread something. 

When he felt her lips against his, both so cautious, he understood it was both their will, and he leant in with more verve, holding the back of her head and capturing her lips fully.

The kiss was slow but hungry. In both of them grew a need so very quickly, as if the touch was the medicine to all the wounds they had collected over the past months. 

Bel’s arms came around Randall’s neck, pressing herself against him, a soft hum escaping her. The echo of the talks and the machine would cover up their little noises — not that they gave any attention to it anymore. 

Losing all restraint, Randall deepened the kiss, opening his mouth and Bel was with him at once, her tongue searching his and for a moment he believed to go up in flames over the passionate touch. 

Bel sensed, and turned with him, pushing him silently to the stool. Pushing him down to sit, without breaking the kiss, Bel gathered her skirt slightly up to be able to sit in his lap. Randall opened up the button of his jacket, and Bel pushed the fabric down his shoulders, before doing the same with her costume jacket.

‘Is this happening?’ Randall wondered, while his hands wandered to her waist holding Bel close. While this beautiful woman was about to kiss him senseless. Him, this eternal bachelor, the looner, 54 and way too old for her. He should know better, have a bit of sense and be reasonable and not kiss that girl. He scolded himself, only to ignore the inner voice in his head. ‘To hell with it!’ After all, he deserved this. The universe owed him. 

His mouth trailed down her chin, placing licks and kisses along her veins to the collarbone. Not that he wanted it all, just a little more. 

Randall Brown wasn’t a fool; this would end as quickly as it had started, with a door going shut somewhere or sense coming back to them both. He'd enjoy it while it last.

While Randall kissed her neck, Bel’s hand entangled with his hair and her mouth tried to tease his left ear. 

‘Is this a dream?’ she pondered, feeling his hands stroke up and down her back, feeling his soft lips explore her skin. A year ago she would have woken up, feeling ashamed and dirty. Randall Brown kissing her like this, how dare! 

Not a dream, and she found it sensual and pleasant. Yes, she had kissed men before. Unavailable mostly. Or men calling her impossible. She had never been the courteous, reserved woman waiting for a proper husband to make her cook in the kitchen and bear two sweet babies, giving up her career. 

Nevertheless, it usually where the man using her. Good for an affaire, but not a proper relationship. She knew she frightened all those men — boys. And then there had been Randall, always in the distance, never having made a comment about her dates. Surely he knew, the gossip in the office was strong, and she didn’t hide it. People saw her go away with men here and there. 

Looking back at it, indeed it was Randall never having given her a look or a word for it. In retro perspective, she thought remembering he offered her a look of understanding after another stupid — foreseeable — separation. 

Then the door went shut, shrugging them out of their dream. They must have looked like something very interesting when one would have caught them at this moment.

“I think they’re gone,” Randall tried to see something behind the shelf. No more shadows were moving and there was silence.

“Yes,” Bel agreed, and only then they realised the situation they’ve been in for a couple of minutes.

Her lipstick almost vanished, slightly visible on Randall’s mouth and face, and when Bel looked at him intently apparently thinking of what to do and how he reached for his glasses to take them off.

Bel stopped him, touching his hand gently, “Don’t.”

A raise of his eyebrow and a puzzled face was all he could give her, a question mark rising above his head. Then she laughed, her thumb brushing against his cheek to clean off the faint lipstick, “I don’t want you to realise how stupid this was, pushing me off and run off. Neither I want to feel ashamed, blush and run also.”

“Bel…,” without knowing Randall captured her other hand with his. Oh, she was so bright in his eyes, so grown up and that woman read him like an open book. He had to look away from her, or he would fall in love with the sight of her, her slightly tousled hair. The way she smelled, like almonds and spring. The way she always knew how to take him. Keep him on his toes. “I don’t want that either, but…”

“This has no future, I know,” she quickly answered, afraid he would say something harsher. 

His wide open eyes, all green, blue and diluted looked at her and Bel wasn’t able to detect the true emotion. It could mean anything. The “No” that followed did a damage Bel wasn’t prepared for. 

‘What else he could say?’ she told herself later.

Slowly she stood up, blushing then after all, while Randall reached for his jacket, giving it a grumpy look. She smirked, knowing the wrinkles would give him a hard time till he got home.

After having composed themselves again, they stood awkwardly in front of each other. It was time to make their goodbyes.

“Randall-”

“Bel-”

 

Bel raised her hand, “I think we’ve said everything already, haven’t we? So let’s not make it more dramatic as it already was.”

“As you wish,” Randall fumbled with the hem of his jacket. “You go first then.”

Bel nodded, still not ready to let go, holding out a hand, “Goodbye then.”

Randall reached for her hand, “Goodbye then,” he felt sorrow crawl up his spine. Hadn’t he told himself the universe owed him? It hadn't been meant like this.

When Bel let go of his hand, she felt a couple of tears raise in her eyes, and she turned away, ready to head to the door, but then she stopped. This wasn’t the way it should end in her eyes, and so — one last time — she gave into her impulsive habit, ran back to him, to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. 

Randall’s hand grabbed hers when she kissed him goodbye, and only let go again, when she was already by the door. 

Her smaller hand slipping out of his broke his heart a little too hard.  

The only thing Bel could do was hurry out of the room, toward her office, quickly grab her coat from the hanger and grab the box on her desk. No last turn around to her office, no more goodbyes. If she wouldn’t get out of the building, away from here, it would only hurt much more.

How was that even possible? That she had the vague feeling of growing love in her heart? For her Head of News.

Randall tumbled back on the stool grabbing his jacket and shirt where his heart beat underneath. For a simple reason, it was beating hard and fast while hurting like if it got burned. 

Loosening his tie, he gasped for air. And then out of the nothing, one of the light bulbs burst, and he sat in the dark.

“Bel!” he exclaimed and stormed to the door, ripping it open, but the only thing he could find was an elevator door going close, going down. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update will follow quickly, as I am just about the finish the last two chapters.


	4. Thursday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's two months later. Bel and Randall have lost contact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Me opens up the box*  
> *lets out the drama*  
> *leans back and watches*  
> ;)

Two Months later

It was early autumn, and neither Randall nor Bel could believe that the summer was already over again. 

However, the weather was unusually warm for the beginning of September, and the people of London used the evenings after work for a stroll, shopping or sit down in a cafe to soak up the sun for maybe the last time that year.

Aside Randall wasn’t the type for it, he had decided on a whim, after a long hard day at work, that a stroll down the street to one of the cafes would do him good. Clear his head. 

He hadn’t left the office during his break in the past days. It was too much to do, and every time he told him to get outside for at least five minutes some emergency or phone call occurred, and he stayed postponed his idea. 

His office was smaller as the one at The Hour, but he could adapt. The two wooden elephants he had brought, placing them at their spot on his desk. The Freudian sofa instead had to go. Not enough room, and so he stored it with some other stuff in a garage at the other end of town. 

The work was good, and sometimes even challenging. The team was promising too. If they would be eager enough, they could learn something from him, he thought. 

His producer was a male, 37 years old, married, one kid and in the beginning, Randall wasn’t able to grab the fact, that it was now him and not Bel Rowley when he asked for his producer to come to him. 

He often wondered about her. Where she was and how she did. He hadn’t heard anything from her, and after a month or so, he could manage to only think about her once a day but was still baffled that she kept his mind that busy. 

Randall denied it to himself that he missed Bel Rowley that the way they had parted had left more like just an imprint on him. 

There were nights when he wasn’t able to sleep; there he thought he still could feel her hand on his cheek. Her lips on his, and because he also remembered her last words, that this couldn’t be, he did the only thing he could. Stand up, sort some books, or check his suits for stains and wrinkles till he was so exhausted that he wanted to go back to bed, but the clock ordered him than to work, and after 12 hours of work he sometimes fell asleep on his sofa, still fully dressed.

There was one location he liked, they had delicious apple pie, a weakness of him. So he enjoyed a cup of tea and a piece of cake at a side table outside, watching a few couples come and go, some old ladies chat up with friends, and a few businessmen cross the cafe without taking notice of it all. 

After half an hour he had enough and asked for the bill. Placing money and a tip on the table then, he was about to get his hat on, when he bumped into someone behind him, who was about to enter.

 

Bel Rowley had needed two months to realise that she indeed had hated her old job that much before The Hour and that she still did hate it. Her boss never let a moment pass to tell her that she better get herself into marriage because it was not the way of a woman to live alone in such a job. 

That she had failed at The Hour, and aside she was good, everyone would hold it against her. Not that he disliked her, Bel usually had the feeling he was supportive of her, but the man only could be like he was. Under pressure from the upper floors and society.

She had to get away, Bel knew that, and from day one she wrote appliances. At first only London, because ‘God damn it, it’s a big city, there has to be a job somewhere.' Then Bristol, Glasgow. Then everywhere. 

Times were bad, and nothing came of it. Maybe it needed more time, she hoped, till The Hour was not more as a rumour in the wind. 

At least her hated job was busy, and so her mind was too. Nevertheless, sometimes when she was in discussion with her boss or a conference, she wished Randall would be there. Then she smiled sadly to herself because he wasn’t there and never would be. She not even had the slightest idea where he was at the moment. 

Sometimes when she walked home, she believed to see him. In the crowd, with his coat and hat, wearing his prominent glasses, walking across the street. A trick of the mind.

How could one person be on one’s mind so much? Shouldn’t she think of others more? The wound of her dead friend still hadn’t healed properly, and Randall would keep right in the end. The scar that would hurt and itch in winter here and there. It was more the living person keeping her on her toes, as the dead one.

Only afterwards, when she had run away from him, way later when she had been back home, she could see the image clear as daylight. As if she was standing on the sideline, she saw him hold her hand, while she pressed a chased kiss on his cheek, and that he didn’t let go until the last possible moment. 

When she thought about it too long, a sob overcame her, and she had to press the white handkerchief of his, she once had kept against her nose. 

She had it said herself; there was no future. Therefore she ordered herself to get the man right out of her mind. With time, it started to work. 

 

And when summer ended, new things started to happen, and for a bit, she was sure everything would be good again. Every problem could be solved — at least momentarily — with some apple pie and tea. Her mother's credo and so she entered the first best cafe she came across, only to run into a man, that was about to leave.

“Oh, I am sorry, I-”

“No, it’s- Bel!”

Bel Rowley and Randall Brown bumping into each other, looking dumbstruck at each other, till the moment had sunk in. No illusion, no fading memory but real.

Bel laughed up, quite in shock and relieve at the same time, “Randall! Oh my god, I…,” she was close to reaching forward to give him a hug but felt the looks of some older ladies from inside who sat close to the window. “What are you doing here?”

The way she smiled at him — he was sure it could be the fuel for a thousand suns. He turned shortly to his table, “Apple pie. I had some cake and tea. It’s a beautiful day, so I thought that might be a good idea.” It obviously had been.

“Yes!” she saw he seemed tired, the rims under his eyes betrayed him, but there was also something in his eyes that signalled her he was happy to see her. “I didn’t know you like apple pie.”

“I do,” he gave her a faint smile, taking off his hat again, so he had something in his hands to play with. If not he would reach out to grab her hand, hold it and not care about all the scrutinising looks of the others. “How are you? You’re still working at…?”

“Yes, I do, sadly, but I have some applications running, so,” she watched his fingers trail along the rim of his hat, “And you? Still the magazine?”

He was disappointed to hear she was still working that old job; he had put out her name here and there, making clear there was no better producer out there as Bel Rowley. Either his name was nothing worth any more or the times were just that bad as everyone said. 

“Still, yes,” he glanced at his watch. It wasn’t that late, “Would you like to-”

“Bel! Dear!” suddenly a voice came up, owned by a young man, that came around the corner joining Bel by the cafe. His arm came around her shoulder naturally, pressing her against him. “Here you are! Oh, hello!”

Randall looked the man up, unable to grasp the concept of his being here. He nodded, and Bel helped out.

“Richard! Sorry, I had a strong need for apple pie,” she gave him a shy smile. “May I introduce, this is Randall Brown, my … my Head of News from The Hour.”

“Ah, Mister Brown,” he held out a hand, and Randall not wanted to take it but did in the end. “Richard Ashley. Deputy bank manager of Ashley Banks. I am very sorry about what has happened at The Hour; I really loved that show!”

“Yes, thank you,” Randall muttered.

“Well, uhm,” Ashley glanced between Randall and Bel, “how about I go inside, and order something already, give you a minute. I am sure there is a lot to tell between old colleagues? Why do you not join us Mister Brown?”

“I am sorry, I have an appointment in half an hour,” Randall explained quickly, looking at Bel, who held her purse tight.

Seeing where this would lead Bel reacted quickly, “You order tea and pie, darling? Give me a minute with Mister Brown; I’ll join you then.”

“I will,” he pressed her a kiss on her cheek, made his goodbyes to Randall and vanished inside.

Randall wasn’t able to look at her for a moment, “It seems you are…”

“Randall, I am sorry,” Bel stepped a bit away from the crowd to the street.

“No, there is nothing to be sorry,” he placed his hat on again. “I am glad for you. You seem happy, and he appears to be a fine chap. Deputy bank manager.”

Bel saw that the happiness in his eyes had vanished. Nevertheless, his words were meant honest, “Thank you. Oh, before I forget, when they emptied the office at Lane Grove, they found some pictures we once did. There was this particular group picture, you might remember. I … I made copies for all of us, and well, I have yours back home.”

He indeed remembered when they took it. For a reason, they never hung it up somewhere, and he couldn’t remember having seen it as the actual picture. “Oh, you can send it over if you like. Here,” Randall reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card, and held it out, suddenly hesitating, “but… be quick. I … I think about…” he couldn’t finish.

Bel reached for the card, her fingers brushing against his, not taking the card yet, “you think about what?”

Glancing at their fingers, feeling their contact and what it made with him, he got scared and took them away, the card now laying in Bel’s hand, “I think about going back to France, I am not sure, just you know.”

“Oh,” France, unreachable for her, “okay. I’ll send it out tomorrow.”

A knock on the window, Richard Ashley making clear the tea would get cold, interrupted them.

“It seems you have to go,” Randall nodded. “It was wonderful seeing you again.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Randall,” she held out her hand, but Randall wouldn’t take it, that she knew and so she shoved her hands quickly into the pockets of her coat. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” he waited till she passed him and then went his way toward home.

A couple of days later a little package arrived. A frame with the promised picture. Back in the old days, shortly before all the misery had happened. 

Them all, alive, together, almost looking happy. It had been shot in front of the building. Just the main team. Foreign desk. The young wild beside Bel, Randall beside the senior anchorman. Their secretaries and two assists.

Bel had written the date into the right corner. There was no letter added, just her address on the outside of the package. 

She had written something, but nothing had pleased her, and in the end, she had thrown the words away, stroking over the glass that contained the picture before packing it carefully within a newspaper. 

Would he indeed go back to France, she asked herself all the time while bringing the package to the post office. Randall was always good for a surprise, so there could be some truth to it, but on the other hand, she thought it had seemed like a spontaneous idea. 

If he'd go, she never see him again, that was for sure.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely love writing those complicated, sad, emotional things between two characters. Some might say it is all over dramatic, cheesy and can't be so in real life, but to be honest, yes, it can. People are utterly complicated and when you have feelings, you do, say and think the stupidest things. You hurt yourself, you hurt others only because you think it will stop the pain of wanting something you can't have. 
> 
> People are a mess!
> 
> Update soon!


	5. Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bel pays Randall a visit with unforeseeable consequences.

Another two months later.

Randall was just about to place plates for dinner onto the table in his living-dining room when he heard the doorbell go. A bit unusual for a Friday evening, he thought and went to open the front door.

While walking down the floor he wondered if something had occurred at work, but they usually rang him up, and so he guessed it was one of the neighbours having a problem.  

When Bel Rowley got a bit lost wandering around in London, it was already dark, and a slight breeze was going. Since an hour she was walking around, unsure what to do.

She had sat in her little apartment, the telly running, when she came across “Newsreel”, the one show that was the hardest competitor of The Hour back then. With wide open eyes, she saw her old anchorman read the news.

Well, it was no surprise, the man was better as spending time in the commercial channel, and Newsreel was by now the only more or less good news show on TV.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, I am Hector Madden, welcome to…” maybe it was only Bel who noticed his short pause, “to Newsreel…” and then after another second of uncertainty, her old friend went on as if nothing ever had happened.

That was the moment it hit Bel.

_‘Welcome to The Hour, the most important sixty minutes of your week!’_

There was a piece of fabric she held in her hands when she finally found the right address. The light was shining through the windows on the third floor, and so she put all the courage she had, into pressing the doorbell. Probably not France then, but she couldn't be sure.

The front door wasn’t locked, and she was happy to enter, as the cold had gone through her coat into her bones by now.

He was wearing a grey jumper, with a white shirt under it. No tie. Very casual. She had never seen him without a tie! It suited him.

She was wearing a dark blue dress, still from work, and a thick coat, a loose scarf around her neck and he could see that she had cried — maybe an hour ago. Her cheeks were red, and she seemed cold. God knew, how long she had been outside before ringing at his door.

“Bel…,” of all people in the world he had hoped it was her to come to him but never had believed in it.

“Randall,” she smiled at him, not sure what to say. She hadn’t made plans; it only had been an impulse. “I am sorry, I know it’s late, I… I was close … more or less, and- and-,”

“Darling, who is it?” another voice echoed through the room behind Randall. It changed everything.

Bel’s eyes went into the distance, then back at Randall, seeing him almost crumble a bit under her questioning look. Before he could answer, a woman appeared in the hall, an apron around her waist, and a tea towel in her hands. She found her place aside Randall.

“Oh, I am sorry,” Bel quickly started, “I came in an inconvenient moment.”

“Your are Bel Rowley, aren’t you?” the woman began to Bel’s surprise. She had the same age as Randall approximately, brown hair, an open and friendly face. “I am sorry, I am sometimes a bit quick. Randall has this picture of you.”

It confused Bel more as it should, “Of me?”

The woman blushed slightly, knowing about the confusion she had produced, “Darling, maybe you should start with introducing us.”

Randall who had only looked at Bel the whole time needed a bump against his shoulder to come back to action, “Of course, I am sorry. Bel Rowley, this is Julia Edwards. Julia, this is as you have already guessed, Bel Rowley, the producer of The Hour.”

Miss Edwards reached out to shake Bel’s hand, “It’s so nice to meet you. I am sorry they put The Hour down, it was one of the best news shows around.”

“It was,” Bel fiddled with something in her hands then, and only Randall glanced down believing to know what it was.

“I was just about putting dinner on the table; you might join us?” Julia suggested, “I am sure there is a lot to tell about between you two. Old colleagues.”

“Oh, no, I don’t have much time, I’d love to, but,” Bel started to make extensive movements with her hands, “work!”

Then something in the kitchen began to ring, “Oh, the meat, sorry. It was nice meeting you, Miss Rowley, maybe another time? It would be lovely to hear some old stories from The Hour, Randall rarely talks about it.”

“Would be nice, yes,” with that Miss Edwards disappeared, and Bel turned to Randall again. “I am sorry, it was stupid to come, I’ll leave.”

Bel was already hurried half down the floor, when Randall caught up to her, “Wait! Bel, I am sorry, if I’d know you come, then…”

“Then what? You, would have told your girlfriend not to cook for you?” she snapped and felt sorry for it immediately. A pause arose between them, and Bel could see Randall was hurt.  “That was a headless thing to say. Forgive me; it is not my right.”

“She is my neighbour actually, well, and also my…, “ he couldn’t remember using the word ‘girlfriend’ ever in a personal context, “We… “

“It’s okay Randall, I get the drift,” Bel smirked awkwardly at him. “It’s good; I am glad you found someone. I always thought… Well, I don’t know what I thought. She seems nice.”

In all those time, they knew each other, she had never seen him with a woman, except one, but it was in no context romantically. 

Everyone knew that Randall Brown was odd. This grim face, the strict behaviour, his need for clear lines, the way he used to talk to people. Sharp as a knife, like his suits. It scared people, women also. But she knew, he could be quite charming. Once, after a conference with the upper floors, he was very eloquent with the boss’s wife who had come to visit. A Randall Brown knew where to leave an imprint for getting the best for the show.

He always was polite with the girls at the office, never cruel or resentful when someone made a mistake. Strict, but not unfair. Everyone was the same in his eyes.

‘When you give him your passion for the News, he’ll do everything to teach you something’, was something Bel had said to one of her co-workers one day after he had felt terrible making a mistake with the film roles.

Women seemed not to be interested in the Head of News and looking back at it; it was what he wanted from them. 

He saw it around him all day. All those entanglements, affairs that lead to problems and interferences. Randall couldn’t have that, not in his job because he needed a clear mind. The past had taught him the consequences of such fleeting entanglements. The hard way.

“She is,” again Randall looked at her hands. “And you? How is.. what was his name? Deputy bank manager.”

“Oh, we, uhm... I don’t know actually. I left him, four weeks ago.”

Randall’s eyes widened. It might explain the sadness in her eyes, “I am sorry to hear that.”

Every time Randall had seen her go away with another man, who used to pick her up at the entrance, he hoped it would be the one for her. In honest he always wished her the best, but deep inside he sensed that once again, she had chosen the wrong one. 

A bon viveur, with a hang for affairs with beautiful women and Bel Rowley absolutely was. Too bright for them, too impossible somehow. She was looking for a counterpart in all those men, not bringing up the courage to speak clear words to the young man, now long buried, right in front of her.

Delays have dangerous ends, and yes, not once Randall had been wrong with it.

A shudder went through Bel, “Every Time I am around you, I am about to cry, that isn’t normal, is it?” she tried to lighten up her mood by laughing, but it must look all too grotesque. She had seen other women do it. Men, even.  

“Oh to hell! The truth is, he left me! Because I was …  impossible again!” she tumbled from sadness into anger within a second. About to become a storm, to tear everything down that was close. If necessary Randall including.

 

_“Listen, Bel, I make it quick, this with us, it doesn’t work,” had been his words. Like he was cancelling a bank contract. “I need someone who is more reasonable. You are too… “ he wasn’t able to end the sentence even._

_“Too impossible, is that it? The word you are looking for?” she had snapped at him. “Fucking Christ!”_

_“See! You are impossible; no one ever told you that? Your reputation, woman! I am looking for someone who is more willing to accept my way of life, Bel. It was nice, but nothing forever. I thought you knew. I mean come on!”_

She poured her glass of red wine over his face and shirt and then kicked him out. Added some obscenities, because ‘reputation’ and then went back to the sofa drinking the bottle down only to fall asleep crying. Not because of him, just because of everything. A little happiness was all she wanted and seemed never to get. It was unfair.

 

“You’ll find someone better,” Randall shuffled a bit closer, hoping he could give her a bit of comfort, but he wasn’t an expert with such thing. It was a phrase he had heard on the office floors when one woman gave another comfort.

“No, I don’t,” Bel interrupted his thoughts. “I never will, I mean, let’s be honest, the only men I ever cared for and seemed to have some honest potential are either dead or-” she stopped herself. The moment was awkward enough. The truth would only hurt them both.

Naturally, he wanted to know how the sentence ended, but he was sure Bel wouldn’t appreciate his question, “Why did you come, Bel? There must be a reason, and it wasn’t to tell me you have kicked this unworthy boy out.”

She laughed, sniffling nevertheless, and then held up her hand. A piece of fabric in it. White, silk, a monogram stitched at the corners of it. R.B.

“It’s yours. I still have it, your handkerchief. I’ve carried it around for so long, and then I saw Newsreel today — they have a new anchorman, did you know that?” of course he knew, “ Anyway, I saw it and landed here. I was afraid you in France already.” Life was strange sometimes.

The blue fact was that Randall had seen the beginning of the show too. Had seen his old subordinate. Having the same memory woken by the man's short blunder. The meaningful pause only a handful of people will have noticed.

“It seems expensive, you should have it back,” Bel held it out to him. She had cried into it a lot of times, but this time not. It was clean and washed. Crumpled.

“Randall! Dinner is ready!” Julia called, and Randall turned slightly. With that Bel used her chance, to grab for Randall’s hand and pushed the piece of fabric into it. Then she turned and began to run down the stairs.

“In a minute!” this time Randall couldn’t stay still, couldn’t turn his back on her, and so he followed. “Bel! Wait!”

He reached her one floor down, his hand grabbing her arm, making her turn to him. The sudden motion made her swirl half into his arms, and only a few inches separated them now.

As if it was the natural thing, her hands landed on his shoulders and his by her waist. Randall saw her green eyes look at him, asking what would happen next. They both got reminded of a similar scene months ago.

There were so many things Randall wanted to say to her, tell her, but it wasn’t the right time. In his opinion, not even the right life. For a brief moment, his eyes twitched to her lips, covered with soft pink lipstick, slightly open. She was scared, and so was he. 

The only thing they could do was making a mistake.

Reaching for her arms, he gave the white fabric back to her, “Her. I want you to have it. I know it’s just a handkerchief but, please have it. Knowing you have it is a thought I’d like to have.”

Bel pressed it quickly against her nose, hearing the meaning of those words, putting them in relation with the man who Randall Brown was. Timid. Shy. Sense and Sensibility.  

She was shattered, he could see it, and it hurt, but Randall was sure that one day he would go down to his mailbox and find an invitation there. For a wedding or the announcement of a baby. Because she deserved happiness and Randall knew how times changed. One day she’d find the man that was worthy.

Bel felt she had to go and Randall felt the same. Slowly they separated but instead turning his back on her Randall reached for one of her hands to press it gently against his mouth kissing it long while never breaking eye contact.

“- unavailable,” Bel whispered. “The only men I ever cared for… dead or...unavailable.”

With those words, Bel broke away. When Randall heard the door go shut two floors down, he had to lean against the cold wall in the staircase for a bit to find composure again. 

For a brief second, he wished he had told her about not going to France, but he believed Bel already had seen through his lie. 

 

“What did Miss Rowley want?” Julia asked Randall later, over dinner.

Randall looked at her, giving it a short moment, “Newsreel. She wanted to tell me about our old anchorman being at Newsreel, and that his wife had given birth to a baby girl not long ago,” he smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes, “I signed a card. You know old colleagues stick together.”

“Ah, that’s nice,” she reached for the mashed potato, “here have more, it seems you like it.”

“It’s very delicious, thank you.”

When they cleaned the dishes, Julia Edwards placed the plates back into the cupboard, “You know what is funny? I didn’t see a card. You wouldn’t carry it on the inside of your coat. It would get all crumpled, wouldn’t it?”

Randall Brown had a hang for clever women.

Instead of answering her question he walked up to her and kissed her. Long and with a lot of meaning. He carried her to bed and gave everything to her. At least he thought he did.

Two weeks later he stood in his living room, holding the picture in hand, Bel had sent over. For some sentimental reason, he had placed it at one of the shelves by the books. 

He had not many pictures so everyone could guess this was special to him. Julia knew that too, and after the evening Bel Rowley had shown up on his door step she knew why.

When he heard Julia come in, he placed it back to its place, taking a deep breath. Since a while, he had wanted to ask her to move in with him. They could spare the costs, as she usually was mostly with him anyway. His apartment was a big bigger, but he was willing to move to hers when she insisted, or they could look for something different. 

Randall didn’t get that far to expound his idea.

“I am going back to Cambridge, Randall,” she announced. Julia had moved into the apartment house only a year ago. “They offered me a very good job at the university.”

“I see,” his hands vanished into his pockets, “well congratulations,” it dawned on him that Julia had made these plans without him and that there was a reason for it, “there is something you want to tell me.”

“Yes, there is. I like you, Randall. You are everything I can imagine to be happy with and grow old with. You are very dear to me,” she stepped up to him taking his hands in hers.

“You make me happy too,” was his answer, and Julia gave him a quick kiss on the lips. It wasn’t the easiest thing to say what she had to say.

“I believe you, but after that one night, when we… when you made love to me, what was so wonderful, so different from the other times, I realised that… that you might care for me, are fond of me, but your heart is somewhere else.”

“Julia, I’ve never-”

“-sh! I know, your honest and truthful and you would till the end, but I want someone to be more as just happy with me,” she reached for the picture behind him. “I didn’t get what is so special with this photography till Miss Rowley showed up.”

“Miss Rowley and I, we-”

“- I know,” she glanced at the picture for a bit, and then gave it to Randall, “I think your heart lies with her if you like to hear it or not. If you know it or not, but it is so.”

 

A week later Julia Edwards had left Randall's life, and because he wasn't able to look at the photo anymore, he turned it on its front down. 

 

 

  



	6. Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the year ends and Christmas is about to happen, the events and emotions come thick and fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, that is maybe a bit unusual to write a Christmas story in August, but I needed sort of a date at the end of my fic, and Christmas is pretty much THAT date. So, I assume this fic is going to be the hit at Christmas ;).

Christmas Eve 1957

The year was about to come to an end. Winter had found its way into the streets of London with a bit of drizzling snow, and cold temperatures.

In the weeks before Christmas, the streets had been full of people looking for presents and buying trees they could put up in their living room. The Christmas spirit was going round again, as every year. Suddenly everything felt so warm and fuzzy. Everyone was in the mood to give out hugs and festive greetings. Ridiculous cards got sent out wishing a Merry Christmas and a happy new year.

 

Randall Brown found it horrible and exhausting. A farce that would end in family disasters and a battle of words on boxing day.

It was the same sight Bel Rowley had, but they didn’t know about that of each other. They hadn’t seen each other anymore.

 

After Bel had left Randall’s doorstep, she had decided not to date until the next year. She needed a break to get away with her thoughts from Randall and the pressure of society that wanted her to get married finally. Having a few offers, she declined every single one of them, slowly feeling her ability to breathe freely to come back.

She showed up at the Christmas Party of her job but kept away from alcohol and any men she thought would try to twist her around their fingers. In the beginning, she thought it would be very annoying, but in the end, it was a lot more fun. She danced with one of the older gentlemen that sorted their letters and mails. He was probably 75 years old but still a good dancer. She had lovely chit chats with the other girls, and her boss told her — a bit drunk already — that she had been the best of The Hour, and it didn’t matter what the others said. She was brilliant, and he’ll deny having said it the next day.

The party had started early and so ended early. When Bel went her way to home, it was not even eight o’clock. It was only two days left till Christmas Eve, and she had no appointment coming up for it. No dinner. Not with family or friends. Her mum had made clear she spent the evening with someone else, but they could meet the next day if she liked. What was okay, she knew her mum. Spending Christmas with her would make Bel only feel more miserable as she already felt.

Some people at work had asked what she would do, and because she did not want to make anyone feel sorry for her, she told them, she’d meet family outside London. Made up an idea about the countryside and a big turkey.

Christmas alone then, she told herself in silence, stopping in front of a shopping window for men accessories. Taking a deep breath, trying to accept that this year would be solo.

And there it was. A blue tie, with cream coloured little dots, like stars and a matching breast pocket handkerchief. Like a hint from the universe. Bel didn’t hesitate one second and bought it right away.

 

After Randall had put the postcard away Julia had written him from Cambridge, to let him know she had arrived safely, he decided to look forward. Finally get a better job. He liked the magazine he was at, but it was nothing he could do for a few more years. He wanted something more serious, something with verve - with a tick. That made him tick.

Giving a call to some people at the BBC rose his spirits. Some good positions seemed to be vacant for the next year.

If he was bound to London, was the only question that gave him a bit of trouble, but in the end, he answered he was willing to go anywhere in Europe.

At the evening of the annual Christmas celebrations, the personnel chief of the upper floors approached him, asking how his Spanish was.

“Appalling,” was his usual answer, but it was a bit of a lie. He had reported from the Spanish Civil War over twenty years ago. It had never been that good, and after all those years he would need a refreshing course, but he’d muddle through.

After all, it would come down to Barcelona or Madrid. He names it; he would get it. His answer on after the festive season.

When the festivity of the day ended, he walked home thinking about the decision. Was it right to leave London again? Go that far away. He wasn’t that young anymore, he probably spent the rest of his life in Spain or only would come back way over sixty. He couldn’t foresee. Randall was sure he’d manage, somehow. He always had till now, and there was nothing that held him in London. Almost.

Stopping in his tracks, he came to a halt in front of a shopping window for jewellery. Why did it feel like running away again? He watched himself in the reflection of the glass; then his look dropped down.

There laid a brooch, in the midst of so many others. An abstract display of a fox and it was the first Randall saw. It was gold with parts of brown and a few smaller rocks. As if something told him, he couldn’t run away without saying goodbye.

He bought it without a second thought.

 

A day later, Bel sat in her living room, the box with the tie and handkerchief placed in the middle of her coffee table intently looking at it. It had cost a little something, and now she wasn’t sure why she had bought it. She was filled with doubt.

Maybe she should send it via mail, without putting a returning address onto it. It would spare her the possibility that Randall had left the city already or worst, would refuse to accept the present.

Then she slapped the back of her head to bring herself to senses, before taking some paper and wrapped it then.

“You do it personally, or you’ll die a coward. And we are no cowards!” it was something Randall had said. Long ago.

 

When Christmas Eve came, Bel visited a church, listening to the priest's sermon and the festive songs, before she went her way to Randall Brown’s apartment building.

Some snow was falling, but nothing that stayed. The white vanished the moment it touched the ground and wished she would one day spent Christmas somewhere in the north of Europe, where they had so much snow, they could share it with half the continent. Sweden maybe, or Norway. She’d like to take one of those boats to the northern end of it, where the sun vanished for months and northern lights, the moon and the stars were the only natural light source at night.

Walking through the streets, she didn’t meet a lot of people. And when, they seemed to be in a hurry to get home to their families and friends. It was Christmas after all.

Reaching the apartment house where Randall lived, Bel looked up, scanning the windows for a life sign. Most of them were lit, but the ones that were owned by Randall seemed dark.

A strange feeling went through Bel; the fear Randall had left the city after all. She rung the bell downstairs, but nothing happened. Cautious she pressed against the front door and to her luck it opened. Now no more afraid, she scurried up the stairs to the door that belonged to Randall’s place. His name was still written on a little sign under his doorbell, and Bel let out a sigh of relief.

She first knocked, then pressed the doorbell, but nothing happened. Disappointment rose, and she wasn’t sure what to do. The man could be anywhere, maybe with Miss Edwards. While she tried to find out what to do, another door opened, and an older man came out the door, looking at Bel.

“Oh, hello,” he nodded toward her. “You are looking for Mister Brown?”

“Yes,” Bel feared the worst, “please don’t tell me he has moved out.”

The man chuckled, “Oh, no, he hasn’t. He went on his way a bit ago. I’ve met him downstairs.”

“Do you know where he went?”

“Not that he said anything,” the man shrugged. “Mister Brown isn’t much of a talker, typical Scotsman.”

It made Bel laugh, “Yes, indeed. Well, thank you, it seems I’ve missed him then.”

“I asked him where he is going that late on Christmas Eve, and he only said, that he had something important to do,” the man looked thoughtful at her. “If that helps.”

Bel shrugged, shoving her little present back into her pockets, “He was probably on his way to … to Miss Edwards then. I’ve met her once.” It had been a stupid idea to come.

“Miss Edwards? No, I don’t think so. She left town a month ago,” the man stopped her from leaving.

Bel’s eyes widened. She hadn’t known that the relationship had ended that way, but from where she should have known? Where did he go then? Was it possible that… No, she not wanted to consider it, the disappointment would be too hard. Why would he visit her that late at night? On Christmas. Even a Randall Brown had better things to do, or other relationships he had to take care off.

With a sigh, she wished the old man a merry Christmas and then left again. Wherever Randall had gone, there was a chance he wouldn’t return early, and when he would, she was probably not the person he wanted to see.

The wind was going cold by now, and so instead of walking home straight, she walked down the other direction, knowing about some cabs always at hold. It was too cold to walk by now, and she decided that she simply had suffered enough for today.  

“What a Christmas,” she told herself, giving the driver a good tip, and then shut the door behind her. The snowfall had gotten stronger, and still, nothing stayed on the ground. Bel glanced into the night watching the snowflakes fall on her coat only to melt there. 

Pushing the key into the main door she turned around once again, seeing a few shadows cross the street in the distance, “Maybe it is time to let go, Bel. You better move on, anything else is just useless.” 

The door didn’t close completely, and she just huffed in annoyance. Not only her apartment door was jammed, the whole damn house was by now. Shrugging it off, she turned around without fixing it.

She was half up the stairs when she spotted the line of mailboxes. Then she saw her mailbox and saw a little something on top of it. A piece of paper stuck in the opening. 

Unsure what it was, she returned and reached for the package what wasn’t bigger as the inner of her hand. Wrapped in simple brown paper, she held it in front of her. The words of the old man echoing in her ears, _“...something important he had to do…”_

“Oh, my God,” Bel took the piece of paper, folded it open and quickly scanned down to the name. With the realisation that it was from Randall, tears began to build.

 

>> Dear Bel, I had hoped to give you this little present personally, but it seems we've missed each other. I know, it is not the way to say goodbye, but you know how it is. Delays have dangerous ends. After the season I will leave the country and go back to Spain. There are so many things I wanted to say to you, but it’s not the place for it. All I can say is, that I wish you all the best, and be told, that I will never forget our time at The Hour. 

Very 

sincerely yours, 

Randall <<

 

By the end, Bel was crying, pressing her hands, the letter and the package against her face. They probably had missed by half an hour at most. 

She could go back to his place, but maybe it shouldn’t be, she thought under tears. Maybe the universe just played a trick with them. Then she opened the present to find the brooch Randall had chosen for her. It felt like someone put a knife into her heart.

 

Then the entrance door to the hall in which Bel stood, went open, startling her and when she was looking up to the door that laid in the shadows after the light had gone out, a voice said, “Every time we meet, you are crying, and you know I can’t have that! I mean who could?”

 

Randall.

 

He pressed the light switch, seeing her holding the brooch in her hands, “It’s a fox. I thought it fits. One of the cleverest animals I know. Very intelligent, and if they have to, they fight like bears, never giving up, let alone they are gracious and gorgeous creatures.”

He stepped up to her, taking off his gloves before brushing the hair that had fallen out of place in all the hectic out of her face. Then he took the letter he had written for her out of her hand and threw it away, “This is the worst letter I have ever written. For a Head of News I am truly very poor with words, ain’t I?”

“You came back,” Bel stuttered, finally smiling. “Why did you came back?”

“I was a half mile down the street, and then I realised that this couldn’t be it, that you deserve a goodbye in person and not on an old receipt, all too Scottish.”

Bel’s head started to pace. Thoughts, ideas and anxieties began to rush through her brain, and she didn’t know where to start - let alone end.

Randall’s hand now rested on her arms, watching her intently. As it was his talent, he read in her, saw the doubts in her of why he had returned.

Breaking eye contact, Bel stepped a bit away, “So you came back to tell me you are leaving to Spain then. You think telling me in person will make the message any better?”

It overwhelmed him, “No, of course not, I just thought-”

“-you thought what!”, Bel knew she had a problem with keeping her calmness in some moments. It was always with Randall. By now they played this game way too long, and she was tired of keeping silent. Of holding back her emotions. A half year ago they had put something in motion, and by now her heart was feeling as if it would burst into a million pieces, never able to recreate itself. “It wouldn’t bother me? Or that I’ll tell you not to go? That I wish you all the best? Do you think this is what happily ever after means? What did you think anyway?”

Bel was pouring all her sorrow at him, and he knew with every question she asked, what she wanted to say with it. Those weren’t questions; those were offers. Revelations. 

The last revelations he had were cutting deep into his inner being.

“I don’t know what I thought!” he exclaimed so unusually for him and it made Bel look up in shock and silence. “It’s Christmas, isn’t it? When I walked away, I remembered, that I can lie to myself all I want, but at Christmas, at this one day in those 365 days, I could at least once be honest. To myself and you. That is why I came back.”

“So?”

“This has no future, you said, do you remember?”

In every dream, in every second she was awake, she remembered saying it. A nod.

“And you are right! Who are we kidding? I am way too old for you, and you are way too intelligent and beautiful for me. Society would condemn us!” Randall needed to close his eyes for a moment. Being that honest just once a year, was not only exhausting but very, very frightening. The possible loss, way too high. “That’s what I told myself all these months, and when I am honest all these years. I told myself what couldn’t be, while I told my team what could.

“Because I once made a youthful, foolish mistake, with a woman who not wanted to marry me, and a child I never knew. 20 years I paid for it, because I told myself I had to, and maybe I had to. And then I realised that, yes, I am too old, you are too clever, Society blabla - that we should be happy and not sad.

“You should be engaged with a fine chap who is doing everything for you. Who makes you his impossible woman because it’s not a flaw to be impossible Bel. It’s a gift! You are brilliant, and yes, I will go to Spain, but not without telling you, that you are so very dear to me and not because you kissed me, but because you were there when nobody else was.

“In every conference. In every meeting with the upper floors. At every show, we aired together. At my side, during every word battle, we had with ministers and employees. And most of all, that one day when I was close to hitting my head against the wall till either the wall would break or my head. You were there.

“I know, this has no future, but I only wanted to say, in person, that my heart lies with you. And there is nothing that will ever change it.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shouldn't say it, but I think the dialogue - as unusual it is for Randall to say so much - is fitting and true to him. If it counts Randall would find the right words. And in this moment it counted.


	7. Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randall offers his soul. What will Bel do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the last chapter of this fic, I wrote pretty quickly. It's nothing big, just some sweet necessary cuteness plus drama for Randall and Bel. As said, if necessary I am going to fill this tag alone, but you others are welcome to help me! ;)

 

A sigh escaped him, showing his own surprise with himself. His hands rubbed against his coat before they vanished into the pockets. Shy he glanced over at Bel who was not moving, only staring at him. 

There was a lot of information to process. And then she reached into her pocket and pulled out the little box she had wrapped for him. Green paper.

“This is for you,” she held it out, “Tonight I was at your place, while you were here. It’s a handkerchief and a tie — very enterprising, I know.”

Randall took it carefully out of her hands, making no intentions to open it, “I am sure it’s beautiful. Thank you.”

After a minute, Randall made a gesture with his hands, waiting for Bel to say something more, but she didn’t seem to say anything back to his speech, and so  he became nervous, “Miss Rowley, as you have undoubtedly noticed I just made a complete fool out of myself with holding that speech. And you could at least tell me I am completely insane. Tell me to get out and never get in contact again.”

Bel wanted to laugh about it. A laugh was what she could need right now because Randall was right, every time they met, she was close to tears or spilling them already.

Memories flared up in front of her inner eye, while she considered him and the situation. Memories of days long gone. The way he shuffled his wooden elephants on his table, unnerving her. _‘Let me hear your tick, Miss Rowley!’_ The way he told her not to work too late, with kindness, and for once without being a riddle. Just friendly and caring.

It all seemed so far away. A lifespan.

There were many things Bel wanted to say to Randall too, words half his wisdom but with the same truth. The same amount of feelings and meanings. Yes, she wanted to spill herself out, to feel the same riddance as he did after pouring his heart out.

“The thing is,” she slowly began, weighing every word now, “that you could write letters and letters about this, keep standing there to say it over and over again with different words. Not that you have to, I understand and believe me; your words didn’t fail their meanings. If there wouldn’t be one thing, I couldn’t be happier.”

For Randall, there was no need that she said it out loud. He was able to detect the problem at once. A weak chuckle slipped him, the edge of the box, he held in his left hand, tipped against his forehead.

The universe owed him, he still was convinced of it, and there were no words and no action that would ever change his idea of this. The universe knew but was unwilling to give, and there had never been another moment Randall had been angrier as in this.

When his daughter had been confirmed dead, he had been angry too, but overall he had been sad. This time he was raging inside, only visible by a slight shaking of his hands, he clenched to fists.

Bel Rowley was right. She always had been. This had no future, “Because, after all I’ve said, you have understood that; I’ll still leave to Spain.”

“Yes. You can’t stay, you can’t do that job anymore, I know. After all, I think I know you very well,” Bel stepped up to him, shove his present into his pockets, so she was able to reach for his hands to unclench them by urging hers into his. “You do what you have to do.”

Gazing at the lapels of Bel’s coat, he freed his hands and reached into the pocket of her coat, to get out the brooch. He smiled at it for a moment, he indeed had a hang for foxes and wondered what kind of animal he might be. Then he carefully opened the needle and tucked it at Bel’s coat.

Suddenly he came to an understanding with the universe, “you are right. I should do, what I have to do,” Bel gave him a nod, looking then at the fox at her lapel, “So Miss Rowley… How is your Spanish?”

Bel’s eyes widened, “What did you just say?”

“I _said_ nothing, but I _asked_ how your Spanish is,” Randall repeated, seeing that his string of thoughts connected with Bel.

“Merde,” she swallowed.

Randall rose an eyebrow, “That’s French.”

“See,” she started to shook her head. “You _are_ completely insane!”

A coy smile built up on his lips, “It’s Madrid or Barcelona. You chose it, and then I’ll take you with me, and I won’t accept a no because you hate your job too, and I think to know, that your heart maybe not lies with me, but somewhere else as London. This is your chance, Bel Rowley because I am a fool, who is in love with you enough to offer you a way out of here without any hidden agenda.”

How was it possible that she had needed so long to understand what kind of man Randall was? Slowly she understood why she always used to choose the wrong men because men like Randall Brown were a scarce commodity. They usually didn't exist in the circle Bel Rowley lived and existed. 

"You are right," she smiled softly at him, "it’s Christmas, and on Christmas, you tell the truth,” she clasped at his fingers again. Finding Randall look down and then in anticipation at her. 

“The truth is, I was in love with _him_ . And you were in love with _her_. And now they are both gone. We have been busy with anger and hurt so long, to lie to us both. The biggest regret of the last six months I have is, telling you about a future I couldn't and can't know about."

"Bel?"

"Randall, I stopped believing in the one and only love, long time ago. And yes, I hate my job and I am still convinced this has no future, but this time, I don’t care about the future, Randall. I care about you and the now," she pressed his hands against her lips quickly, "Or as you've said; my heart lies somewhere else. With you to be exact.”

And then Bel Rowley grabbed the lapels of his coat and kissed him because she couldn’t bear it anymore.

In shock, Randall's hands swayed in the air, and after a second he gave in. His lips opening up for hers, his hands coming around her body, holding her close. Touching her cheek, humming in content. Making a promise never to let go of her again.

Bel kissed him till she had no more air in her lungs and then decided on Madrid. 

Randall took her upstairs to her apartment to kiss her some more, and to make love to her till they fell asleep exhausted but happy.

In the morning, a Sunday, he startled awake, afraid he only had dreamed it all, and then he felt her hand on his stomach and heard her hum tired against his shoulder, “Don’t tell me you have a conference at boxing day.”

He smiled at her, “Only with you.” Bending over he kissed her deeply, his hands caressing her naked body and Bel laughed when one touch tickled her.

She then pressed him down into the pillow, the hair-ends tickling his face, memorising his features, the way his eyebrows moved in confusion, the colour of his eyes, that sometimes looked green, sometimes blue. 

Randall got nervous, "In case you realise I am old and grey, I dare say, you are a little late now."  

Biting her lower lip, she shook her head, and then whispered; “Te amo.”

In over twenty years Randall hadn’t used the words, because of fright and all the anger. Because he had been busy running away.

“I love you too.”

Randall would keep running. To Spain and God knew where else. But this time he had a hand to hold on. Bel Rowley's.

 

The End.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks giving this fic a read. It's just a small ship and I know not many people read it anyway, therefore I really appreciate a comment from anyone reading this. Make a writer happy!
> 
> Thanks, till the next fic.


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